Mountains of Thyme

Yesterday I nearly left my bones on Kasos.

How about that for a catchy first line, eh? Yesterday my 16-year-old brother, his friend and I decided to go for a little hike. Two hours I told my dad. We hopped into the car and I drove us to a parking spot at the mouth of the riverbed that is now dry. This is the area called Skylas, right at the base of my village of Agia Marina. We started our hike. The boys were game and we stared to hike up the mountain from which the waters flow in the winter. And up we hiked. And up. Things started to get a little difficult but the boys were up for it and so was I. We climbed up the rocks, we scrambled over retaining walls and boulders. "Just a little further" became our mantra. And up we went.

We reached the top of what we thought would be the tip of the mountain. We had hopes of seeing the sea from the other side. This is what we saw.

The climb wasn't too onerous and the view at the top, as you can see, was breathtaking. Once at the top the way was very easy. We walked around and found some sort of structure built of split rock, quite a nice little structure. There was no apparent use for it. I can imagine a shepherd up there getting bored and deciding to build this thing. Fascinating.

We walked around, took some pictures and marveled at the whispy clouds that scudded speedily across the sky. Their shadows chased each other across the hillsides and down the mountains. At one point we realized we were inside a cloud. I tried to get a picture of the boys, this was the best I could do:

There is only one peak on the island higher up than where we were!

At the top of this mountain, we could see the Cretan Sea (the water you can see behind the boys) on one side and the Egyptian (Lybian) on the other. What a fantastic place to be.

So we knew the way down was going to be a bit challenging, considering the way up. However, it was such easy going at the very top that we decided to try a different way down. After all, Alexander and I did exactly that at a different site and things worked out very well. Right. History repeats itself, they tell me. Right. What innocent, sweet kids we all were when we were at the top happily hopping our way down the mountain side. And then, we had to stop. There was something of a cliff below our feet. Now what? Can't go back, too much time, too much road to travel. So on we went. About 100 yards into our decent, we're on all fours facing the cliff side, clinging to the spine of the crags hoping to any and all gods who might be watching (and probably laughing their asses off) that we make it down to the next "path" one of us might have spotted from above. By this point I'm covered in scratches and thorns. The lovely, springy bushes of fragrant thyme that stud the mountain no longer provide me with an opportunity to breathe deeply and think on the glory that's in front of me. Now, these spiky, scrubby bushes are often the only thing between me and a 100 _meter_ drop into oblivion. Fun times. And I had the two kids with me. Just great. It took us just under 2 hours to climb down. I was near tears a number of times as the terror of our situation settled in. No views now. I looked behind me once and nearly lost it. Mountain above, sheer cliff below. I did not want to know. I have never been so happy to see the stone-block walls (think roman walls); never have I come anywhere near to thinking that piled slate was a sign of civilization as I did yesterday. We all three draped ourselves over this wall and just breathed. None of us dared, yet, to look up and see where we had just come from. We still had a bit of road to go before we got to the dry riverbed.

Four hours later we made it, living proof, scratches, scrapes, swollen ankles and knees intact. Looking back, from the safety of the car, we all were uttering quite a few choice words about the climb as terror abated and thrill started to take over. Younglings are resilient critters. I don't imagine we'll ever forget our climb and we're all game for another adventure as soon as the swelling subsides, the muscles start working and my heart starts beating normally again.


The evening ended with my family collecting scrub brush and lighting a fire by the sea, cooking lamb on the coals, drinking wine, and star gazing. The smell of the ever-present thyme bushes burning in the fire as well as scrunching under our shoes once again became the balm it has always been, the stars filled our eyes, the sea filled our ears, the lamb filled our bellies. As we licked our sticky fingers clean of lamb juices, washed down with wine, my dad told us stories of his adventures in the mountains and my brother and I plotted the next escapade.

Life is, indeed, good.